The groan my arrival seemed to elicit from the male gave me the initial impression that he wasn't exactly thrilled to have company. He replied then that poppies would work for a more serious malady, and as he stood up my gaze fell at once to look at his small paws. The one that had been dipped in the lake waters didn't appear to be gravely injured, and he stood upon it with ease. Not knowing much about the healing arts myself I shrugged it off, figuring he must not have hurt himself too badly. He continued to speak about wine, and my interest was only further piqued. A libation to soothe the soul, made from grapes. "I do; they do not grow in the mountains, though. Perhaps along the Aplos River, west of here."

Mismatched eyes seemed to settle on me then, in a way that although I had experienced before had never been quite so...forthright. I'd caught Vortigern staring at me out of the corner of my eyes in the past, when he thought I wasn't paying attention, but I liked when his gaze lingered a little longer than was usual. This, however, was different. Steeling myself against the uncomfortable weight of his gaze, eyes of sunset-rimmed mahogany narrowed and I tilted my chin up a degree at his comment. I'd never been one to shy away from uncouth situations before, and that wasn't going to change today. "Thanks; I'm Nymeria."

He was certainly not timid, so why should I be? My gaze lingered on his face, taking in the multitude of scars and the missing chunk from his nose. Perhaps others might think him ugly, but to me scars often meant a wolf had endured some trial in their life to get where they were. My mother bore scars from the battles she'd fought to protect the realm of Spirane. Even I had a couple of scars, though they were less evident as the fur around them often shielded them from view - one shoulder bore a single claw mark from a cougar, while the other was marked by an unknown shewolf's jaws when she'd trespassed into Spirane and attacked one of our guests. I wondered what the story might be behind the male's scars, but even though he'd be quite brazen with me, I couldn't find it in me to do the same to him.

"Have you traveled far? I don't think there are any wolves in Moladion who make wine - perhaps you should be the first." I paused for a moment, further sizing him up. He really was quite small, smaller even than Pan had been, or Niviaq was. I recalled a lesson my mother had taught me once, that the might of a wolf was not in the size of his paws or jaws, but the size of his heart. My tail waved slowly back and forth, lifted slightly away from my hocks, my curiosity about this wolf only continuing to build with each passing moment.